


make believe it's hyperreal

by Evoxine



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Escorts, Drama & Romance, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Mild Smut, Strangers to Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-07 07:58:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17362067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evoxine/pseuds/Evoxine
Summary: Unwilling to let the public dig its claws into his life, Kim Jongin, a renowned actor, draws a clear line between his professional and private lives. Rarely does anything cross the line without his approval and knowledge, so it's fair to say that Jongin does not expect someone to (quite literally) barrel into his life and become an outlier to that unspoken rule.





	make believe it's hyperreal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cosmicruin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicruin/gifts).



> Hi dear, I hope you enjoy this :)

Fame crashed into Jongin like a meteor out of the sky, turning his life upside down overnight and sending him hurtling straight into camera flashes, pitched screams, and adoring fans without any preparation whatsoever. For a while, life was indescribably good. His films consistently top box office lists, endorsement deals won’t stop flooding in, and his legions of fans never stop growing in number.

It wasn’t until a scandal involving one of his fellow actors blew up into hundreds of thousands of pieces did the rose-coloured glasses slide off the slope of Jongin’s nose and break into a million pieces by his feet. The man was caught womanizing – _five_ different women at a time –, and despite an attempt at damage control by his company, the career he’d worked so hard for swirled right down the drain.

At that point, Jongin suddenly understood the importance of separating his professional life and his personal life. Nowadays, he keeps a tight leash on anything that doesn’t involve his career, refusing to give the media any form of ammunition that could be turned back onto him. What started off as prevention turned into a committed way of living, and for years, even the craziest of fans have been unable to dig far beneath the surface of Jongin’s life.

Whenever Jongin willingly gives up little tidbits of his life, whether it be rare pictures of his family uploaded onto his Instagram or opinions on ongoing social discourse, they tend to go viral. While Jongin treasures his privacy, he also knows that he has to open up to his fans occasionally – there needs to be an aspect of giving and taking if he wishes to be successful in the industry for a long time.

Tabloids _hate_ him. They make their money from rumours, scandals, news – information that Jongin refuses to give them. It has gotten to the point where tabloid magazines will come up with false information of their own just to get the rumour mill swirling for a moment. Of course, those rumours always end up debunked and never lead anywhere, so publications have learned to rely on paparazzi photographs of Jongin for reader traffic.

Funnily enough, Jongin doesn’t really care about the paparazzi. As long as they don’t invade his personal space and his home, Jongin doesn’t care what their cameras snap. He treats it as an inevitable part of his job, at least while he’s still relevant in the industry. The asinine questions they toss at him will always be ignored, but he doesn’t shy away from the flashes or the video cameras.

It works. He’s an enigma, but that veil of mystery works. Everyone literally just can’t seem to get enough.

 

 

 

  
But Jongin’s will isn’t bulletproof. Just because everything has gone the way he had wanted them to for years doesn’t mean things won’t crash and burn over one mishap. As it turns out, it’s a good deed that knocks down all of the walls that he had painstakingly built up over the years.

Walking home from the gym one night, Jongin turns the corner and runs right into someone else. It takes one glance at the person for warning bells to go off in Jongin’s head – ripped clothes, bruised body, sheer panic in the eyes.

“Fuck, sorry, I –”

It’s balmy out, yet this guy is shivering. Jongin thinks he catches a whiff of expensive champagne on his breath.

“It’s okay – hey, are you alright?”

Pale lips part, but before any words are allowed to slip through, those uncertain eyes dart past the curve of Jongin’s shoulder and land on the hoard of paparazzi that follows him everywhere he goes. Ah right, the cameras. Jongin’s gotten so used to their presence that sometimes he barely registers the fact that they’re there.

“Forget about them for a moment,” Jongin says, stepping a few inches to the right in an attempt to block the cameras. “ _Are you okay?_ ”

Jongin watches the rapid rise and fall of his Adam’s apple and makes the one decision that ends up changing his life.

“Come on.” He touches the man’s elbow and gestures to his house just down the street. Light explodes out of the cameras’ flashes, but that little warning voice in Jongin’s head is silent for once. “Let’s get you off the streets, yeah?”

He keeps a respectful distance between them as he leads the way home, but once the door shuts behind them and the paparazzi have nothing to focus on through their viewfinders, Jongin steps in.

“You hurt anywhere? Do I need to call for an ambulance or the police? Or –”

“No, no. Thanks, but I’m okay.”

Jongin knows how uncomfortable it feels for strangers to pry, to force their way into your private issues, but tonight he feels like he has a moral responsibility to do so. “You’re bruised, your clothes are ripped… I know you’re probably reluctant to tell me anything considering the fact that we don’t know each other –”

A choked, trembling laugh, “I know who you are.”

Jongin can’t help the sheepish look that sweeps over his face. Sometimes he underestimates how famous he really is.

“I’m Sehun. Would you mind if I ask for a glass of water?”

 

 

 

  
Sehun’s seated by the expansive kitchen island with a glass of iced water in his hands and he’s busy pulling a fingertip through the droplets of condensation running down on the side of the glass. On the other side, Jongin’s leaning against the sink and trying his best not to creep Sehun out with his blatant staring. After three full glasses of water and many, many minutes, it seems as though most of the alcohol has left Sehun’s system by now.

Jongin is a patient man, so he accepts the likely fact that he’ll have to wait for a while before Sehun’s willing to open up to him. Maybe it’s the heaviness of Jongin’s gaze or maybe it’s the exhaustion weighing down in his mind, but Sehun eventually pushes his half-empty glass away and clears his throat.

“You might want to call your manager,” is what Sehun says, a handful of words that Jongin did not expect to hear. “For some damage control.”

“What?”

Sehun shrugs half-heartedly and hunches into himself. “Damage control. I’m an escort, you were photographed with me, case in point.”

The bluntness of Sehun’s admission surprises him. With that new bit of information, a part of Jongin really does want to ring up his manager, but another part is telling him that what’s done is done and that there’s more to Sehun’s story he needs to hear. He eyes a rip in the sleeve of Sehun’s shirt and leans forward, resting his forearms on the edge of the island.

“Alright. So what happened?”

“A client got too rough. I wanted him to stop but he didn’t, so I just left.” Sehun doesn’t sound like he’s _ashamed_ of his line of work, per se, but the entire situation obviously unsettles him.

Jongin pulls his bottom lip through his teeth. “I know the guy who lives in that house. Not well, but well enough to be on a first name basis. Would you like me to talk to him?”

That’s the first time Jongin sees fear flicker into Sehun’s gaze.

“No, please, he’s –” Sehun wets his lips and pushes blunt nails into the flesh of his palms. “You don’t want to get involved in this. He’s not the best person to have in your life.”

“So why is he in yours?”

A scoff, then Sehun’s pressing down on one of the bruises on his arm. “Gotta make a living. You can say or think whatever you want about this career path, but you can’t deny that it pays well.”

“I’m not judging you for what you do at all,” Jongin says evenly. He gets the feeling that far too many people have done exactly that, each off-hand comment and lingering look adding bricks to the sky-high walls that are already surrounding the man seated in front of him. “I just don’t think you should continue to see people like that.”

“What I should do and what I have to do usually turn out to be entirely different things.” He drains the rest of his water and slides off the bar stool. “I should go. I think I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

“Does he know where you live?”

The moment Sehun nods, Jongin shakes his head. “I would really prefer it if you didn’t go home tonight. You can stay here; I have empty guest bedrooms that you can choose from. I’ll get someone to send you home tomorrow morning.”

He’s surprised but relieved when Sehun agrees.

 

 

 

  
Right as he sets down a first aid kit and a pile of clothes down onto the bed, the door to the en-suite sweeps open. Steam curls out of the bathroom in lazy strokes, dissipating to reveal smears of red all over Sehun’s body as if he was a Jackson Pollock painting.

There’s a towel around his waist and Jongin can’t see if the bruises extend down his legs, but it’s logical to assume that it does.

“Shit,” he utters. The single, emphatic syllable has Sehun raising an eyebrow. “Are there any open injuries? Broken bones?”

“No, nothing that bad. He just has a really hard grip and often underestimates his strength. If I got seriously injured during a session, it’s stated in our contract that he would have to assume responsibility, and his image just can’t afford that sort of blow.”

Jongin digs out a salve from the kit and mutters to no one in particular, “Remind me never to work with him.”

“Yeah? You wouldn’t miss out on much; his movies suck anyway,” Sehun says, a small smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. At that, Jongin can’t help but laugh.

He offers to help Sehun with the bruises on his back and Sehun lets him. An oddly comfortable silence fills the room as Jongin gently rubs a thin layer of salve over the bruises, getting all the hard-to-reach places.

“Here are a couple changes of clothes; you’re a little taller than I am but these should fit reasonably well. These are for the night, and these are for tomorrow if you don’t want to wear your old clothes home.”

Sehun thanks him, picking up a shirt and fingering the hem.

“I’ll leave you to it, then? I’m just down the hall if you need me for anything.”

“Wait.” Sehun disappears into the bathroom and emerges with something white in his hands. “Here. My name card with all my details.”

Despite being an actor, Jongin doesn’t always have full control over his facial expressions. Sehun catches the confusion on his face and gives him a wry smile.

“For the plethora of headlines that are sure to appear in tomorrow’s tabloids. While I do keep a low profile, there are journalists out there who have ways of digging through the dirt. Give this information to your management team; it would be better if they got on top of it all rather than be caught by surprise.”

Jongin glances down at the card in his hands, the material slightly damp from the steam of the shower. _Oh Sehun_ is printed across the middle in an elegant, embossed script.

“Alright, I will.”

“Thanks for all your help tonight,” Sehun says, the shirt still in his hands. “You have a good heart. Goodnight, Jongin.”

Before he falls asleep, Jongin makes sure to fire off a text to Marcus, his manager, summing up the situation and attaching a picture of Sehun’s card along with it. Tabloids work fast – he’d be bloody surprised if his name isn’t splashed across the front page of every publication come sunrise.

Sure enough, Jongin wakes up the next day to a slew of messages from Marcus and hundreds upon hundreds of Twitter and Instagram notifications. He deletes all the notifications, no doubt all from his (likely angry) fans, leaving Marcus’ texts to look at later when he’s got enough caffeine running through his bloodstream.

The tiles are chilly beneath his feet as he makes his way over to the bathroom, pulling him further out of sleep’s clutches. He washes up and slips into a pair of sweatpants before he ventures out of his bedroom. When he peers down the hall he sees that the door to Sehun’s room still shut, so he makes a detour and heads into the kitchen instead.

There’s freshly brewed coffee in the pot and breakfast on the stove when Sehun finally appears in the doorway. His hair is a mess and the bruises that appear above the collar of his shirt have darkened to a deep purple, but for a moment, he looks at ease.

“Good morning,” Jongin says, prodding at the omelette he’s got on the pan. “Slept well?”

“Yeah, actually. That bed is ridiculously comfortable.”

He settles back into the seat he’d previously occupied the night before and Jongin slides a large mug of coffee over to him.

“Milk? Sugar?”

“Black’s good, thanks.”

Jongin’s turning back to his eggs when his phone lets out a series of pings.

“Ah, it’s already begun, hasn’t it?”

“It’s fine, my team will handle it.”

He hears the faint clink of Sehun’s mug as it comes to rest against the surface of the counter.

“I don’t think you realise how big this could get. You’ve never been involved in an actual scandal before, and this doesn’t involve another actor or model or whatever is deemed as an ‘appropriate’ job – I’m an _escort_.”

Jongin sets a plate down in front of Sehun and gives him a pointed look.

“I’ll handle it.”

Sehun’s expression clearly screams _I doubt it_ , but Jongin chooses to ignore it. He’s had a pristine record thus far, there’s absolutely no way this one little thing can knock the whole deck of cards down.

 

 

 

  
While Jongin had expected things to be alright for him, he did not expect things to blow up for Sehun. With a perfect image ripe for tarnation, he’d thought that the heat of the public’s wrath would be brought down upon him, adding oil to the flames and keeping them burning for as long as possible. Why would his fans not choose to disapprove of his behaviour and choose to fault someone they had no idea existed before their fated meeting?

Getting Sehun out of the house and into the car proved to be one of the hardest things Jongin has ever had to deal with. As if that wasn’t daunting enough, the sheer number of paparazzi in the driveway made it nearly impossible for the car to inch forward. It had taken almost half an hour just for the car to make it past the wall of humans and onto the open road.

It’s barely past noon and the tabloids are already churning out headlines in full force.

“This is ridiculous,” Jongin mutters to himself, scrolling through the fourteenth article of the day that frames Sehun as a manipulative sex worker. The content of the article barely varies from the other ones that Jongin had read – it claims that Sehun had targeted and propositioned him for his fame and money.

Like all the other articles circulating around the Internet, a doctored video is attached to the current article pulled up on Jongin’s phone. Undoubtedly edited by the paparazzo that filmed it, the video succeeded in completely altering the events of the night, even managing to remove all traces of fear that Jongin had clearly felt coming from Sehun.

It’s unsettling, how the media has managed to twist this narrative into one that protects Jongin’s reputation instead of destroying it. Jongin doesn’t understand why he’s spared the consequences that so many of his fellow colleagues would face if they were in his shoes.

He sends Marcus a text ( _why is the media not taking advantage of this???_ ), and while he waits for a reply, he leans against the desk and stares at the screen containing all of his live CCTV feeds. There are perhaps twenty paparazzi surrounding his house, all patiently waiting for Jongin to step out of his house. _Like hungry sharks waiting for chum_ , Jongin thinks. He suddenly feels a little sick.

His phone buzzes and Jongin looks down to see Marcus’ prompt reply.

_you’re the nation’s treasure. they could care less about an escort. this is a good way to keep you in the press and still have the public view you in a good light._

_but this isn’t fair,_ Jongin replies, frowning down at the screen. _this isn’t what happened at all. it’s going to ruin his life._

_yes, but the media doesn’t care about what’s fair or true._

It’s a mad scramble to find Sehun’s business card after that. Jongin has lived in his house for a little over three years, but there are still times when he forgets where he is or where a certain item is. Looking for a small piece of card in such a large property will definitely prove to be a challenge.

He finds it in the kitchen, half of it slipped under the edge of his coffee maker.

_are you alright?_

_well, i’m getting death threats, so no, not really_

Jongin feels his blood run cold.

Sehun is getting _death threats_ while Jongin is safely behind the protective barrier of his fans? It is without dispute that with fame comes many great perks, but this is certainly not one of them.

Coming to an easy decision, Jongin hits speed dial #2 and jogs towards the direction of his room to get dressed.

 

 

 

  
“Are you positively stupid,” Sehun hisses through the crack of his door. It’s open wide enough for Jongin to see a sliver of the man’s frame and a very narrowed eye fixed right on him. “What are you even _doing_ here?”

“Damage control,” Jongin answers. “Let me in. I have people downstairs controlling the paparazzi; you don’t have to worry about them making it up here.”

Sehun’s eye narrows even more before the door clicks shut and Jongin hears the faint jangle of the door chain. The second the door opens, Sehun reaches out and practically yanks Jongin in – it’s thanks to his stellar balance that Jongin doesn’t tip over and break his nose on the sleek wooden floor.

“You do realise that coming here is the exact opposite of damage control,” Sehun says flatly, leading Jongin into the living room. From what he’s seen, the apartment is a comfortable size and decorated tastefully, but Jongin doesn’t have the time to appreciate it.

“Technically, yes and no.”

Sehun raises his eyebrows as he crosses his arms, wrinkling the fabric of what is apparently a vintage graphic tee. _Yikes_ , Jongin thinks. _The man is not impressed._

“Okay, look. Before you chew me out for coming here, listen to my proposal.” He waits until he sees some of the hardness in Sehun’s eyes fade away before taking a seat on one end of the couch and gesturing for Sehun to settle down on the other.

“Go on, then.”

Taking a deep breath, Jongin cuts straight to the chase. “My plan is: we come out to the public as having been in a secret relationship for the past few months, maybe a year. I’ll handle the details, of course.”

Sehun doesn't move a single muscle for so long – his eye doesn't even twitch – that Jongin starts to worry about the possibility that he's broken him.

Sehun's mouth opens for a second or two before slowly closing again. His brows draw together and he pulls his bottom lip through his teeth with so much pressure that the pink flesh turns white.

“Did I hear you correctly?” He ends up saying, voice surprisingly even.

“Yeah, you did. You’re getting death threats because you were photographed with me – I’m not going to just step back and let that continue. You know just as well as I do that while most of these threats are just for show, some people actually do follow through with them. To what extent my fans will go to ‘protect’ me, I do not know. But I do know that this way, _I_ can protect _you_. The odds of them hurting you are significantly lesser if they think you're important to me.”

The cushions let out a puff of air when Sehun slumps back against them, fingers rising to pinch at the bridge of his nose.

“Are you even remotely interested in men, Jongin? I ask because while no one knows what goes on in your romantic life, I will not go through with this unless there’s the possibility it can be played off as genuine.”

“I like whoever I like,” Jongin shrugs. “I’ve been with my fair share of men.”

Sehun gets up from the couch and shuffles over to the kitchen with weariness weighing down his steps.

“I can’t believe I’m actually considering this,” Jongin hears him mutter. “Do I have to sign an NDA or anything?”

“If that makes you feel better, sure. But I didn’t draft one because I wasn’t planning on asking you to.”

Sehun’s out of view now, but Jongin hears the faint clink of something against ceramic and a cabinet being opened and closed. Moments later, he re-emerges with two mugs of tea in his hands.

“Camomile tea,” Sehun says, passing one over to Jongin. “I’ve had one too many cups of coffee today and if I drink another sip, I might keel over on the spot.”

“So does this mean that you’re okay with the cover story?”

“Just –“ Sehun lifts a finger and takes a breath. “How long are we supposed to keep the façade up?”

“Once the media attention has died down, we can start to step away from it. I’ll probably release a statement at some point after saying that we’ve ended things amicably and are moving on.”

Nodding, Sehun takes a large gulp of tea and walks over to the window, where he stands deep in thought. The afternoon light, ordinarily harsh, settles around Sehun’s frame in a soft halo. A thought flits through Jongin’s mind with deadly speed: ah, so this is what _breathtaking_ means.

 

 

 

  
The next morning, Jongin wakes up to yet another landslide of messages on his phone.

Unwilling to face the rest of the world just yet, Jongin rolls over in his massive bed, the covers bunching up around him as he strives to find the most comfortable position he can attain with the limits of his flexibility. He ends up on his belly, left arm splayed out and right arm tucked beneath his pillow, waist bent at an angle that most people would deem unbearable. A bent knee and a straight leg, both thrown towards either corner of the bed. In that position, Jongin drifts back into a doze and doesn’t fully wake up until someone rings the doorbell. Multiple times.

After a mad scramble for a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, Jongin hurries downstairs and nearly jabs his own eye out when he loses his balance just as he’s leaning close to the door’s peephole. Standing outside is his manager, six-foot-three and with over two hundreds pounds of pure muscle on his frame, looking honest-to-god terrified for his life, thanks to all the cannon-sized cameras hovering mere inches away from his face.

The poor man tumbles through the door the instant Jongin opens it, hip knocking painfully into the wall as he swipes at the sweat beading on his pale brow.

“That,” he utters, jabbing a trembling finger at the closed door, “is _insane_.”

“Tell me about it.” Jongin keeps a firm grip on Marcus’ elbow as he steers the both of them in the direction of the lounge. After depositing the large man onto a couch, Jongin darts into the kitchen to fetch him some water – Marcus drains it all in one breath and doesn’t leave a single drop clinging to the surface of the glass.

“Okay,” he breathes, pulling out a sheaf of papers from a folder. “So as you know, we’ve released all relevant information to the tabloids early this morning and I’ve been tracking the feedback since then. Needless to say, many of your fans are shocked and I think they might need some time to, ah, wrap their minds around it.

“In the meantime, we have a few things to go over. I have already sent Mr. Oh a copy of these so that your stories will match up – Cass and I have done our utmost best at making sure that the details are realistic, but do let us know if anything doesn’t seem logical so we can correct it right away.”

Jongin thumbs through the pages. “Yeah, got it.”

“What are your plans for your red carpet appearance on Wednesday? Will you bring Mr. Oh?”

“I’ve completely forgotten about that,” Jongin admits. “I’ll ask him. But I don’t think it’s smart to appear publicly together so soon after the news has broken – I don’t think it’s safe for him.”

Marcus nods, but before they move on to the next issue at hand, he digs around in his pocket and presents Jongin with a simple ring. It’s a flat, platinum band with a thin line of diamonds around the middle, and it slides perfectly onto the middle finger of his left hand.

“Mr. Oh has an identical one,” Marcus explains. “According to his Instagram account, he never takes it off. It’s up to you if you want to wear it; maybe discuss it with him first?”

The ring is a foreign weight on his finger – foreign, but not uncomfortable. He twists it around the digit, watching as the light catches on the tiny stones nestled in the metal. “Yeah, I will.”

 

 

 

  
If it weren’t for the presence of his bodyguards and the tight level of security, Jongin would’ve been free food for the wolves. As it is, reporters and photographers are already straining against the seams of the cordoned off areas, microphones and cameras desperately reaching out for anything Jongin is willing to offer up.

The fans are in just as much of a frenzy, screaming at the top of their lungs from where they’re trapped behind the media. Jongin has never felt this overwhelmed in a long, long time.

He’s painfully aware of the ring on his finger – ever since Marcus had given it to him, he’d kept it on in an attempt to get used to its presence. It’s admittedly a good touch, for people tend to fixate on matching jewellery or clothing items that suggest two individuals are involved in a romantic relationship.

After barely a few minutes on the carpet, relief washes over Jongin at his decision to keep Sehun away from this event. If he’s this flustered over maintaining his over, he can’t imagine how bad it would be if they were both here. What if someone messed up a detail and accidentally let the cat out of the bag? What if their body language made it obvious that they barely know each other? Worst of all, what if someone forced their way over and physically attacked them?

“Mr. Kim! Mr. Kim! Is it true that Oh Sehun is an escort?”

“Yes,” he replies smoothly, brushing a non-existent piece of lint off his suit sleeve. He turns to smile at a camera, the practised curve of his lips feeling almost natural by this point in his career.

“Why are you with him?”

The smile slides off Jongin’s face and he looks away from the camera to fix the reporter with a cold look. “Is there something wrong with his job? I trust him to keep his professional and working lives separate.”

He moves on before she has the chance to ask yet another question, walking a few feet down the carpet and stopping only when Marcus discreetly touches his elbow. His manager has a carefully vetted list of which publications and media networks Jongin can talk to (i.e. the ones that tend not to completely take his words out of context or ask asinine questions) – after today, that list will probably be overhauled.

“Mr. Kim, how long were you planning to keep the relationship a secret?”

“That was Sehun’s choice,” Jongin says. “There are many aspects of my career that I did not wish for him to experience – the invasion of privacy, for example –, but I did leave the choice completely up to him.”

“Some of your fans aren’t happy that you’ve been hiding such a big secret from them. What would you like to say in response?”

“I am very sorry that I’ve had to hide this from them, but I do not regret it. My privacy is very important to me, and this issue doesn’t just involve me. I have someone else to think about too. Hopefully, my fans will understand and come to accept that.”

Another tap on his elbow and Jongin bows politely to the interviewer before shuffling down the carpet.

“So far so good?” He whispers to Marcus. He gets a satisfied clap to the shoulder in response.

Somehow, Jongin manages to breeze through answering all the questions thrown at him. He’s always been good at improvising on set and this really isn’t any different. In fact, the only question that trips him up is: “Do you love him?”

Even great actors get flustered sometimes. Jongin barely registers the flood of heat that surges up his neck and face, clinging to the curves of his ears and the ridges of his cheekbones.

“I, uh, I’m –”

God, his mouth is as dry as the Sahara Desert – if he focuses, Jongin thinks he might be able to feel a cactus growing on his tongue. After a few seconds of Jongin staring blankly at the interviewer, Marcus pinches him in the side. _Hard_. That effectively jumpstarts Jongin’s broken-down brain and the man furiously clears his throat as he scrambles for an answer.

“I… think so. Yeah.”

“What do you love about him? I’m sure your fans would love to know.”

Jongin’s beginning to sweat underneath the expensive silk of his dress shirt.

“Everything,” he manages to croak out, and during the brief lull in conversation, Marcus takes the opportunity to whisk him away.

 

 

 

  
Sehun’s standing in the walk-in closet of the bedroom he had occupied not too long ago, a packed duffle bag by his feet and hands on his hips. After the story had broken, Sehun was forced to end all arrangements with his clients, and Jongin had stepped in with a cheque for the exact amount of money Sehun would’ve made in a month. Now, with all the spare time he has on his hands, Sehun’s only job is to keep up the charade for a little while longer.

“This closet is the size of my bedroom,” Sehun says incredulously, wide eyes darting from one point to another. “I have no idea where to begin and I only brought like, a dozen pieces of clothing.”

Leaning against the doorway, Jongin watches as his fake boyfriend runs a finger down the slope of a clothes hanger. “You know, you can just wear my clothes,” he says. “We’re about the same size, anyway.”

“First a love declaration, then moving in, and now an offer to freely invade your closet?” Sehun looks over his shoulder and laughs. “Wow, give a guy some time to catch up.”

Shrugging, Jongin absently tugs on a drawer until it slides open, the inside panelling void of any dust thanks to his meticulous housekeeper.

“Sorry about having to pull you away from your life. I know it’s unfair, but –”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Sehun says, back still turned to Jongin. He bends to pick up his bag and finally starts unpacking his clothes. His shirt rucks up and Jongin catches a glimpse of smooth skin, marred with bruises barely ten days ago. “What’s done is done, and now we just have to play it out. Could be worse, that’s for sure. You could be an asshole.”

Not really knowing what to say to that, Jongin leaves Sehun to his task and retreats to his study to peruse the script for an upcoming movie he’d received a couple of weeks ago.

Along the way, he walks by a large window and doesn’t miss the presence of a few heads sticking up over the neat line of shrubbery that surrounds the perimeter of his property. Something glints in the sunlight and Jongin pulls the curtains shut. If he used a little too much force, he doesn’t seem to care.

Time trickles by as Jongin immerses himself in his role. It’s evening when a knock on his door brings him back to reality. He can feel how bloodshot his eyes are and the muscles in his back are stiff from having sat in the loveseat for hours. The script lands on the seat with a muffled sound as Jongin makes to stand.

“I got lost,” Sehun declares incredulously, “in a house.”

Jongin blurts out a laugh. “Shit, I’m sorry, I should’ve given you a tour.”

“Probably,” Sehun agrees, “but I’m starving. How about you give me a very detailed tour of the kitchen for now and we can save the rest of the rooms for later?”

The second they get to the kitchen, Sehun makes a beeline for the fridge. He pokes around inside for a few moments, pulling out several vegetables and a cut of steak that Jongin didn’t even know was inside.

“Are you cooking?”

Sehun hums an affirmative. “You might want to restock your fridge when you’re able to,” he adds. “I’m going to be using up a lot of things tonight.”

“We could go grocery shopping tomorrow,” Jongin offers.

Sehun glances up from a bunch of spring onions in his hand. “Together?”

“Yeah. That way, I don’t accidentally buy something you hate or might be allergic to, and we can use the opportunity to feed the paparazzi. They already know you’re here.”

“Ah, is that why all the curtains in the house are drawn?”

Jongin steps around the kitchen island and pulls out the necessary kitchen equipment. He sets a sharp knife down on the chopping board and leans back against the marble with a grimace.

“They generally leave me alone, at least when I’m at home. This is as disconcerting for me as it is for you, as hard as that might be to believe.”

Sehun grabs a couple of potatoes from the bowl tucked away in a corner and rinses it under a stream of water. “It’s not that hard to believe,” he says, stepping aside to let Jongin dig around in a drawer for a vegetable peeler that he accepts. “You’ve always been a very private person.”

Conversation ebbs as Sehun focuses on preparing the ingredients, chopping vegetables up into even cubes and slices before tending to the meat. Jongin makes himself comfortable on one of the bar stools and observes.

He’s quick and efficient, able to multitask without letting the pressure get to him. It isn’t long before delicious aromas start to fill the room.

“You seem to enjoy cooking,” Jongin notes, ears picking up on the soft melody that Sehun’s humming under his breath.

“I learned because a lot of my clients have a fantasy that involves me acting like their kept man,” Sehun says, tone a little acrid as he drizzles oil over the carrots. “You know, coming home to a cooked meal and all that bullshit. But the more I cooked, the more I began to enjoy it. It’s a way to let loose, I suppose, and in my line of work, it’s much needed.”

“I understand. It’s hard to escape sometimes. There have been moments in my life where even weeks of isolation have failed to rid my mind of stress and whatever nonsensical burdens I had decided to place upon myself.”

Soft hair falls into Sehun’s eyes as he shuts the oven door and straightens, looking over the kitchen island at him. Jongin’s gaze follows the sweep of the strands over smooth skin and the urge to reach out and brush them away suddenly rears its head. He ignores it in favour of listening to whatever Sehun’s about to say.

“I’ve always been under the impression that you very much enjoy your work.”

“I enjoy the art and the challenge of acting,” Jongin says, fiddling with the edge of an ornament that sits on the countertop. “Not so much the industry. It provides me with great opportunities to do what I love, so the idea of shunning it seems impossible to me, but that’s not to say that I’ve never come close to it.”

Meat sizzles away as both men fall silent once more, lost in their respective thoughts.

Jongin’s mind is so busy that it takes a hand on his arm for him to notice the plate of food sitting patiently in front of him.

“Stop thinking for a moment,” Sehun says, “and eat.”

“Smells amazing.” His sincere words are punctuated by an embarrassingly loud grumble coming from the vicinity of his stomach – an amused smile tugs on the corners of Sehun’s mouth and Jongin promptly takes a large bite of roasted potato.

 

 

 

  
In hindsight, perhaps shopping for groceries together in public wasn’t such a smart idea after all. The supermarket is packed to the brim with paparazzi and Jongin’s fans aching to get a view of the happy couple, so much so that it’s impossible to take more than a few steps at a time.

One of Jongin’s most trustworthy bodyguards have the unfortunate responsibility of wrangling with the shopping cart – Jongin doesn’t miss how the man blatantly runs over several toes and makes a mental note to give him a bonus at the end of the month. By his side, Sehun puts up with the pushing and shoving like a champ, hand securely in Jongin’s as they inch their way towards the fresh produce.

The screaming and constant camera flashes are giving Jongin a headache, so he steps back and lets Sehun do most of the shopping, only speaking up in abject horror when he sees a pumpkin hovering dangerously close to the cart. He simply can’t stand pumpkin.

He’s staring at a selection of chips when he smells, rather than hears, Sehun coming up behind him. The man uses a cologne that Jongin has never smelled before – it’s pleasantly light and crisp, the notes reacting nicely with Sehun’s own natural scent.

Something slips into his hand and Jongin glances down to see a pair of earplugs. He can’t help but snort and Sehun gives him a wink before gesturing at himself. An identical pair sits snugly in Sehun’s ears.

 _You're a genius_ , he mouths, and Sehun lets out a bright laugh. It's a lovely sound, one that Jongin wouldn’t mind suffering through constant screaming to hear again. But his head really is killing him, so he slips the earplugs in and lets Sehun pull him over to the frozen section.

The crowd parts for them slowly and thickly, much like honey. With the screaming now muted, Jongin feels good enough to engage in a silent debate – complete with flailing hands – with Sehun over which flavour of ice cream to purchase. He wants mint chip but Sehun wants hazelnut, and after some (honestly, quite useless) bickering, they end up putting both pints in. Jongin’s bodyguard tries to hide his laughter into the lapel of his jacket, but Jongin sees it anyway. He doesn’t mind at all.

Trailing after Sehun as he scours the shelves for food, Jongin learns that the man loves hummus, cheddar jalapeños Cheetos, and two-bite brownies. He also learns that Sehun thoroughly disapproves of pre-made potato salad ( _I can make that for you_ , he mouths) and store-bought pasta sauces ( _I can_ also _make that for you_ , Sehun bemoans silently).

The cart is considerably full by the time they’re done. Jongin waits patiently for the starstruck cashier to get a grip on herself – the poor girl’s eyes are practically bulging out of her skull as she looks between the two of them.

Sehun doesn’t seem too bothered by the attention he’s getting, at least judging by the passive expression he’s got on as he watches her bag their groceries. When he notices Jongin looking, he steps closer and rests his chin on Jongin’s shoulder.

Reaching up, he plucks the earplug out of Jongin’s ear and whispers, “I feel like an animal in the zoo.”

“Sorry,” Jongin whispers back guiltily. “I really didn't expect it to be this bad. Next time –”

“No, it's okay. It's different, that's all. Eye-opening. How do you do it?”

“Part of the job,” Jongin murmurs. He flashes a polite smile at a bunch of fans, triggering a mass of screams.

When Sehun hums contemplatively, Jongin can almost feel the vibrations of his lips against the shell of his ear. Oddly, their proximity doesn't make him feel uncomfortable. It's actually quite nice; Sehun's presence isn't invasive, and the man seriously smells amazing.

“Kiss me,” Sehun says next. Jongin's stomach does a huge belly flop at those words. “On the forehead.”

Jongin's always been very good at following instructions – directors love him for that. So he turns his head and presses his lips against the smooth skin of Sehun's forehead, letting the connection linger for an extra second.

“You're a good actor,” Sehun tells him. Jongin can hear his smile. Then a kiss lands on his cheek and all Jongin can hear despite the shrieking around them is the pounding of his heart.

 

 

 

  
For weeks, their relationship is constantly splashed across newspapers, magazines, entertainment shows, and various social media sites.

After their trip to the store, Marcus had dropped by and informed them (with clear surprise in his voice) that the pictures snapped of them that day were _very_ convincing.

“He’s an actor,” Sehun had said pointedly, “and it’s not rare to see people in my line of work act as well. If anyone can pull off a fake relationship, it would be us.”

Having been forced into such a unique situation, it’s inevitable that they grow close. Sehun’s now unable to go out into the public without being mobbed by dozens of Jongin’s fans and paparazzi, so he spends all his time holed up in Jongin’s house, only leaving when necessary. Feeling bad for Sehun’s plight, Jongin joins him in doing the same. He still has to leave for table-reads and other job-related responsibilities, but he spends whatever free time he has at home.

They go through a ridiculous number of movies on Netflix and Sehun doesn’t waste time in commandeering a specific seat (second row, third from the right) in Jongin’s small theatre room. There’s never a dull moment in the kitchen either, not when they’re both downloading a bunch of random recipes off the Internet and challenging each other to whip up the most bizarre creations. Most of them turn out well, though. Once, Jongin brought a large Tupperware of salted caramel molasses cookies that Sehun had made to work – over three dozen cookies were demolished in the span of an hour.

“Never leave him,” one of the tech crew members had moaned around a mouthful of cookie. Behind him, Marcus snickered.

They race each other on the treadmills in the gym (Jongin has better stamina but Sehun has better speed) and compete to see who can hold their breath underwater for over a minute (neither one of them). Jongin enlists Sehun’s help in purchasing a few new pieces for his wardrobe and Sehun lets Jongin dye his hair a deep red – after, Jongin ends up with a large blotch of dyed skin on his forearm that doesn’t go away for a few days.

It doesn’t take long for Jongin to feel comfortable enough around Sehun in order to regard him as a friend. Lying in bed one night after an intense game of Monopoly and a large mug of homemade hot chocolate, it dawns on Jongin that if he were stuck in this predicament with anyone else, things would probably not have turned out this well.

It’s naturally easy, being around Sehun and connecting with him. There have been moments of awkwardness, of course, but getting past them takes barely any effort whatsoever. Things really aren’t that bad, considering.

“Doesn’t it sort of feel like we’re having an extended sleepover?” Sehun says to him one night, peeling his gaze away from the TV ( _Se7en_ is playing for the third time this week) to nudge Jongin in the side.

“It does,” Jongin agrees, setting aside his script for a much-needed stretch. They’re in Jongin’s room, Sehun taking up over two-thirds of the king-sized bed, the former reading through his lines while the latter recites line after line, word for word, from the movie. Jongin doesn’t even care that Sehun’s cold-ass feet are pressed against his shins.

“I’ve never had a sleepover,” Sehun tells him, flipping around until he’s on his stomach and his feet are flopping by Jongin’s face. “I’m glad my first sleepover was with you, despite the circumstances.”

“You’re twenty-six and you’ve never had a sleepover?” He swats a foot out of his face and Sehun giggle-snorts.

“Nope. Strict parents growing up and a lack of intimacy with humans in general when I finally grew up and moved out.”

With that, Sehun’s attention returns to the movie and Jongin lets his gaze linger on the curve of Sehun’s spine for a beat or two before looking away.

After a short discussion one night, they come to an agreement to add a little more fuel to the fire, leading to Jongin uploading a blurry picture of the two of them onto his Instagram. They’re shirtless and sprawled out on a bed, Sehun’s cheek pressed against the curve of his shoulder as they look up at the camera with sleepy, hooded eyes. In less than eighteen hours, it becomes his most liked photo on Instagram of all time.

 

 

 

  
Approximately ten weeks after Sehun moved in, they find themselves surrounded by a team of makeup artists and stylists as they prepare for their first official public appearance together. After the outing to the grocery store, they’d left the house as a couple exactly thrice – twice for carefully planned dinner dates at upscale restaurants and once to visit a suit tailor that only serves A-list celebrities.

Tonight, Jongin is due to attend an awards ceremony, and he’s bringing Sehun along as his plus-one. The trip to the tailor’s a couple of weeks ago had been for this very event, and Sehun’s brand new suit is hung up alongside one of Jongin’s personal favourites from his vast closet. They’re sat side by side in a room that Jongin had specifically designed for this – there’s a set of shelves entirely for makeup and another for hair products, complete with a whole wall of mirrors.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jongin can see Sehun munching on some vegetable chips as a makeup artist dabs a small amount of concealer underneath his eyes. It’s a nervous quirk he has, Jongin’s learned, a compulsive need to be chewing something just so he doesn’t start babbling nonsensical things.

Cass, Marcus’ assistant, is busy going over the details of the night with Jongin, so he’s unable to engage Sehun in conversation in an attempt to distract him from whatever mess is going through his mind. Seated too far apart for Jongin to reach out and provide a comforting touch, he resorts to pulling out his phone.

_nervous?_

_haha can u tell_

_it’ll be ok_

_i’m going to be thrown into a room full of the biggest celebrities in this region and they all know i’m an escort. i can already imagine the looks i’m bound to receive_

When Jongin glances up from his phone and looks into the mirror, he catches Sehun’s gaze. It’s heavy, tinged with apprehension and a smidgen of fear.

_it’ll be ok, i promise_

Sehun simply sighs, chest rising and dropping, lips barely parted as air streams out from between them. But he stops reaching into the half-finished bag of chips, so Jongin figures that it’s a step in the right direction.

It takes almost an hour to get their hair and makeup settled before they’re able to step into their suits. Jongin turns to Sehun and straightens his tie, hoping that the squeeze he gives the man’s shoulder comes off as reassuring.

“We won’t spend much time on the carpet,” Jongin promises. “We’ll just pose for some photos then we’ll head inside, okay? Marcus has already made sure that we’re seated with decent people, so hopefully, you won’t be on the receiving end of any unwarranted judgement. Even if you do, pay them no mind, you hear? They’re all just jealous they don’t have you as their plus-one.”

At that, Sehun rolls his eyes.

“It’s true,” Jongin insists, stepping back and gesturing at the mirror. “Look at you. You should be a supermodel.”

The suit fits his frame perfectly, from the cut of the jacket and the length of the slacks down to the width of the lapels.

“Buttering me up doesn’t usually work,” Sehun says, lips quirking, “but I guess it’s alright if it’s you.”

 

 

 

  
It’s one of the toughest red carpets that Jongin has ever had to do. This is a day of many firsts: his first carpet with a plus-one, his first carpet while in a (fake) relationship, his first carpet where he’s worried about someone else’s safety instead of his own.

The second they stepped out of the car, their hands immediately reach out for each other. Sehun falls into step behind Jongin, trusting Jongin to guide and lead him safely through the crowd, and Jongin doesn’t plan on letting him down.

Amidst the frantic screams, they’re able to pick up the multitude of questions hurled at them from the line of media correspondents set up just behind the barricade. Sehun stays quiet through all of them, letting Jongin do the talking while he provides silent support. Thankfully, most of the questions are centered around the awards that he’s nominated for, but Jongin swiftly deals with the ones about their relationship as well.

That strategy works – until they’re stopped by a stocky man holding an equally stocky microphone, that is. Jongin instantly baulks, recognising the man’s company as one that’s on Marcus’ _Never Fucking Talk To Them_ list. But before Marcus can escort them away, the man opens his mouth and asks, “Mr. Kim, why are you with someone who sleeps around and is clearly with you for your money?”

Jongin’s instinctive reaction is to pull his free arm back, fingers already curled into a tight fist, ready to surge forward and sink into the flesh of the man’s jowls. If this question comes up again, he _swears to god_ – But Sehun beats him to it, stepping forward and extending a placating arm across Jongin’s chest. Long fingers curl firmly around his wrist and Jongin freezes.

“Oh, honey,” Sehun says, voice sickly sweet as he addresses the reporter. “I make more money in a month than you probably do in half a year. Take my word for it that I’m not with him for his money. As for sleeping around – well, practice makes perfect, doesn’t it?”

With that, Sehun turns to him and kisses him square on the mouth. At the first press, Jongin’s world narrows down to the feeling of soft, yet chapped lips against his own and the intoxicating scent of Sehun’s cologne seeping into his pores.

Their hands are still locked together, so Jongin settles his free one, previously balled into a tight fist, right onto the dip of Sehun’s hip.

“You’re –” He begins, but Sehun leans in to kiss him again.

“Stupidly reckless, I know.” It’s said so quietly that Jongin is certain he’s the only one who is able to hear it. They part, Sehun ignores the interviewer, and Jongin spares the man a frosty glare before he turns around.

The situation inside the hall is considerably better, much to Jongin’s relief. Celebrities know better than to gossip openly, and Jongin is thankful that he doesn’t have to sit through two and a half hours of blatant whispering and pointing. He’s friends with most of the people at his table, which is a definite blessing – as a result, they’re polite and friendly to Sehun, some even making a clear effort at engaging him in conversation.

It’s obvious how uncomfortable Sehun is, despite his earlier display of bravado. He’s a fish out of water in here – thrown into a desert, more like –, a fact that Jongin is acutely aware of. Entirely willing to risk getting reprimanded by his company for not paying attention to the event, he makes sure that Sehun is his main focus. They talk quietly and constantly with their heads bent towards each other, Jongin only tuning in to the MCs when an award he’s nominated for is being presented.

He ends up taking home two trophies out of the three he was nominated for. Sehun had seemed genuinely proud and pleased both times his name was called, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek before standing up and applauding while Jongin made his way up to the stage.

Back at the table, Jongin slides his _Best Supporting Actor_ award over to Sehun.

“You deserve this more than I do,” he whispers, and Sehun breaks out into a bout of uncontrollable (and slightly hysterical) laughter while Jongin looks on with a grin.

 

 

 

  
It’s past midnight, but they’re out by the pool, lounging on the deck chairs while sharing an expensive bottle of cabernet.

“You know,” Sehun says thoughtfully, watching as the wine in his glass swirls lazily. “If only we met under different circumstances.”

Alcohol buzzes warm and pleasantly under his skin, and Jongin is so comfortable in his chair that it takes him a second too long to register what Sehun had just said.

When he finally does, he turns to look at the man lying next to him. “What do you mean?”

Sehun takes a large sip of wine and shrugs. “Dunno. Being with you is… nice. I’m not even talking about the sweet – albeit fake – romance or the lavishness of being with a celebrity; no, it’s just you. Some part of me wishes this wasn’t an act, you know? The cooking competitions, the movie marathons, the way you let me doze off on your lap while you read your scripts. Maybe minus all the crazy fans and the constant paparazzi, but honestly, I’d probably be more than willing to put up with that if what we had between us was real.”

 _He’s probably drunk_ , Jongin’s boggled mind supplies, too stunned to register the fact that the bottle of wine is only half finished.

 _You’re probably drunk too_ , a frantic voice in his head says as he sits up, setting his wine glass down on the table between their chairs. _Don’t say anything stupid!_

“If you want it to be,” he begins, clearly aware that he’s not drunk, “it can be.”

Despite the darkness of night, Jongin is able to see the surprise in Sehun’s eyes when they flick over to him. If he’s not drunk, then Sehun can’t be drunk either, right?

“What?”

“If you want us to be real, we can be.”

Sehun is rightfully speechless, fingers tight around the stem of his wine glass as he stares at Jongin.

“I have never enjoyed being with someone as much as I have enjoyed being with you over the past few months. You’re a charming person, witty and sharp with just the right amount of sarcasm. You’re a genius in the kitchen and you’re even better at memorizing lines than I am. Your presence is comforting, never overbearing, and oftentimes I am perfectly content with just being in the same room as you are.

“But the best part? Your heart. You bake for my staff, you remind me to call my grandparents, and for Christ’s sakes, you crochet little toys that you regularly donate to orphanages. There’s at least one half-finished bunny in every room of this house and I _love_ it. None of what I’m saying right now has anything to do with our fake relationship – I would’ve come to the same conclusions in any reality. So why would I mind if this became real?”

Something changes in Sehun’s gaze, a subtle dimming of the light Jongin has come to appreciate. It takes a bit of time for Jongin to put his finger on it, but when it does, his heart aches. The vulnerability, once unearthed, is impossible to ignore.

“No one’s ever talked about you like that,” Jongin surmises quietly. “Have they?”

“No,” Sehun admits. “Once I started working as an escort, I broke off most of my emotional relationships. It’s a complicated industry and I didn’t want to cause any sort of trouble to my friends. For the longest time, all I had were my clients, and that’s not saying much. None of them ever took the time to get to know me for me, even the ones that have seen me for years. Sure, they were nice and treated me decently, but not a single one of them would be able to tell you what my favourite colour is.”

“But you wear so much blue,” Jongin blurts.

Sehun smiles, a little watery, but genuine and beautiful all the same.

“A little sad, isn’t it? That it takes a fake relationship to show me what it’s like to be in a real, fulfilling one?”

“If it takes a fake relationship to show you what you _deserve_ , I don’t think it’s sad at all.”

 

 

 

  
Predictably, something in their dynamic shifts after that night. It’s subtle, only evident when no one else is looking. To the outside world, they’re madly in love and still adjusting to their presence in the spotlight, but to no one else but the two of them, they’re enjoying the process of _falling_ in love. They’re crafting their very own story, one that belongs to them and no one else, and it’s exhilarating.

It’s evident in the lingering touches, the softer smiles, the unwillingness to part for the night. Reaching out for each other becomes second nature, as is Jongin tucking his face into the crook of Sehun’s neck for a whiff of the man’s scent and the way Sehun automatically pillows his head on Jongin’s lap.

Not quite courting and not quite dating – instead, it’s a natural re-development of things. There really isn’t a term for a fake couple transitioning into a real one, is there? Besides, Sehun doesn’t seem to like labels and Jongin doesn’t care much for them either.

For a while, they keep their physical affection limited to hugs and kisses on the cheek. Then, things take a pleasant turn on a sunny Thursday morning – they share their first kiss as a real couple in the kitchen (now their favourite room in the house), complete with coffee breath and tousled hair. It’s perfect.

“You want some pancakes?”

“Mm,” Sehun hums, pressing his cheek into the warmth of Jongin’s skin. “Yes, please. I’ll make you a waffle.”

Just like that, dressed in rumpled pyjama pants and cooking each other’s favourites breakfasts, they’re happy.

Along the way, shooting for Jongin’s upcoming film starts and Sehun makes it a point to accompany him to the set every day. He stays out of the crew’s way, sitting in Jongin’s chair whenever the actor doesn’t need it and standing by his side when he does. Keeping busy with books and more crocheting, Sehun wiles away the time as Jongin works, sometimes indulging in a gossip session or two whenever Cass has a few minutes to spare.

Whenever the director calls _cut_ and Jongin gets a water break, Sehun never fails to receive a kiss to the cheek, forehead, lips. The simplicity of the act and the familiar scent of the man make his heart trill, and Sehun wonders how he’d gotten this lucky.

They’re standing side-by-side at the sink, Jongin washing the dishes while Sehun dries them, when Jongin turns to him and asks, “I’ve always wondered – does the ring mean something to you?”

“Back then or right now?”

He can feel Jongin’s contemplative gaze on the side of his head.

“Both?”

“Back then, not so much. It was a gift I bought for myself when I started making money – I like simple, understated jewellery, and I’ve always liked rings. I guess it keeps me humble, reminds me of how hard I’ve had to work for what I have. But apart from that, it doesn’t hold any other meaning.”

“And now?”

Sehun takes a clean bowl out of Jongin’s hands, glimpsing the silver of the band around his middle finger through the soap suds filling the sink. He can’t help but smile.

“Now, I look at it and I think of you.”

 

 

 

  
It’s awfully domestic, the way that they’re able to share space while doing their own thing, always somehow managing to stay connected.

Sehun is sitting cross-legged on the floor between Jongin’s legs, fiddling with two pieces of the 2000-piece puzzle in front of them that’s almost half-finished. Behind him, Jongin’s attention is fixed on the television screen where some nerdy documentary is playing, a hand working automatically as it runs a brush through Sehun’s freshly washed and dried hair. The steady pull of the bristles through his hair has Sehun practically purring, too distracted to focus on the task at hand.

Twisting around, he curls a gentle hand around Jongin’s wrist and extracts the brush from his grasp.

“Hey, can I steal a little of your time?”

Jongin’s eyes immediately dart down to lock with his.

“You never have to ask.”

“Oh, you're so going to regret saying that,” Sehun snorts as he gets to his feet and coaxes Jongin back against the luxurious softness of the couch cushions.

He settles down astride Jongin's lap, basking in the knowledge that he has the man’s full attention on him. Slow and deliberate, Sehun places the edge of his thumbs on the sharpest point of Jongin's chin and smooths them backwards to the hinge of his jaw.

When his thumbs hit the sharp edge of Jongin's jaw, he slides his hand up and pushes the rest of his fingers into Jongin's hair. Jongin sits there patiently, a hand on each of Sehun's thighs, letting Sehun do whatever he likes.

Lithe fingers card through unstyled strands, over and over again as if on a quest for something buried deep within.

Then, Sehun stills his movements, hands cupping the base of Jongin's skull, and he leans in. Jongin meets him halfway, lips parting to let him in.

Sehun thinks back to the kisses they’ve shared; he remembers receiving sleepy pecks on the forehead when he’s half-buried beneath thick covers, remembers brushing his lips against Jongin’s cheek while dozens and dozens of cameras go off around them, remembers the hot slide of Jongin’s tongue against his as he’s pushed up against one of the many doors in Jongin’s home.

This kiss, right at this moment, burns all the other ones to the ground.

Because this kiss is going somewhere – Sehun can feel it in the pit of his stomach, a growing hunger that isn’t like anything he has ever felt before.

Jongin’s kissing him at a languid pace, lips working around his with practised ease. The grip he has on Sehun, however, is anything but relaxed. He’s got his hands around Sehun’s waist now, grip so possessive that Sehun is sure to feel Jongin’s touch ghosting across his skin days from now.

A reluctant rumble vibrates between them when Sehun yanks on Jongin’s shirt, neither one willing to pull apart in order to get the garment off. So, fueled with determination, Sehun digs his nails into the thin fabric and rips it clean off Jongin’s torso.

Jongin’s skin is warm and smooth, the scent of his expensive body wash blending nicely with the natural musk of the man. Appreciative, Sehun nips at the lip currently trapped between his teeth and drags his fingertips down a nicely sculpted chest.

He’s seen Jongin shirtless before, but only in magazine pictorials and movie posters. The guy’s well built – not over-the-top muscular, but definitely fit enough to see hints of a six-pack even when relaxed. Can anyone really blame Sehun for breaking the kiss in order to steal a shameless look with his own eyes?

“Like what you see?”

The roughness of his voice has goosebumps erupting down the back of Sehun’s arms.

“How long has it been since someone touched you like this?” He asks, brushing a fingertip across a dark nipple and watching it peak at his touch.

“Quite a while. I don’t really have the time or patience to go out hunting for potential partners that don’t care about my fame.”

Their eyes meet again and Sehun can see how dilated Jongin’s pupils are.

“You’re the first person for me in a long, long time,” Sehun says quietly, tracing mindless patterns down the faint ridges of Jongin’s abs. “For pleasure, I mean. Not business.” He feels his own jaw tighten at the confession, but before he can ruminate too much on it, Jongin latches on to the curve of his neck and sucks hard enough to distract him.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I want,” Sehun says, chewing on the inside of his cheek even as Jongin’s hands slip underneath his shirt, warm palms rubbing soothing circles into his back. “I want to know what I’ve been missing out on. What it’s like to have my pleasure in someone else’s hands instead of my own.”

“Let’s go to bed,” Jongin suggests softly. Ever wonderful, he waits for Sehun’s nod before standing and leading the way.

When Jongin helps him undress, Sehun is suddenly hit with a bolt of nervousness that he hasn’t felt in ages. He knows that he’s objectively attractive – if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have that many people knocking on his door for a good time –, but for once, he cares what the other person thinks of him.

“You’re beautiful,” Jongin tells him, as if he’s able to read him like an open book. He slides a pillow under Sehun’s head and kisses the bow of his lips. “So blessed to have you.”

Jongin leaves a trail of fire in his wake, mouthing his way down from Sehun’s neck to the dip of his navel. It’s with utmost reverence when Jongin kisses the curve of Sehun’s knee, slick fingers of a hand easing past his entrance in search of the bundle of nerves that will give Sehun the toe-curling pleasure he deserves.

He goes maddeningly slow, the drag of his fingers over Sehun’s prostate causing lean thighs to tremble, the wet suction of his mouth around the head of Sehun’s cock causing hands to fist in the sheets. Through it all, Sehun can’t quite wrap his mind around the fact that this is happening, that someone else is giving him pleasure and not demanding anything in return.

Sehun is salty and heavy on Jongin’s tongue, the length of him slowly sliding down his throat until Jongin’s nose brushes against neatly trimmed hair. The only warning Jongin gets is a hand flying down to grab a handful of his hair before Sehun’s coming with a muted moan and wet eyes, heels digging into the bed for purchase as Jongin’s throat works insistently around him.

“Inside,” Sehun manages to croak, but Jongin shakes his head.

“In a bit,” he says, thumbing a drop of come off the corner of his mouth and squirming back up the bed to pull Sehun’s pliant body against his. He kisses a tear away. “When I can come with you.”

There’s a moment of silence, then Sehun’s trying to push Jongin away while he groans, “God, you’re so fucking cheesy.”

 

 

 

  
Three-quarters of a year into their fake relationship, Marcus calls to ask when they’ll be ending the ruse.

Jongin looks down at a still snoozing Sehun, curled into Jongin’s warmth with his head pillowed on a stuffed sunny side up egg and a thin string of drool turning a small spot on the yellow yolk a shade darker.

“About that… there’s something I should probably tell you,” he says quietly, a hand over his mouth to prevent Sehun from waking up. Sunlight trickles in from the small gap between the curtains, casting a strip of gold into the room, the edge just barely brushing the slope of Sehun’s nose. “We don’t really want to end it.”

“Well,” Marcus says after a beat, his voice a little fuzzy through the line, “I can’t say I’m surprised. I’ll let the higher-ups know. Congrats, Jongin. God knows you deserve this.”

“Thanks, man. That means a lot. Will you do me a favour and let them know that I would like to be able to come clean about the situation? Maybe write an open letter or something. I don’t want to lie about something that I shouldn’t have to lie about.”

Marcus agrees and they end the call, Jongin setting his phone aside before burrowing down next to Sehun. Despite his best efforts not to jostle him, Sehun stirs awake with a snuffle and rubs blearily at his eyes. The ring on his finger glints softly in the light.

“Everything okay?” He mumbles thickly, scratching at the dried spit on his cheek.

“Yeah.” Squishing one of Sehun’s (eternally cold) feet between his shins, Jongin tugs the covers up over their shoulders and drops a kiss on his temple. “Everything’s perfect.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if this didn't go quite how you wanted, but I kept most of the focus on their relationship instead of their jobs and made the ending hopeful, instead of a guaranteed happy one. It's up to you to think about what revealing the truth might lead to!
> 
> To everyone: please think twice about judging sex workers!
> 
> [Click for Links!](https://bluedveins.wixsite.com/evoxine)


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